“Fuck if I know, some uncivilized place in the middle of the country. Why? Plan on going out to avenge you brother’s death?”
Dixon shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Hearing that weak son of a bitch was dead was the cherry on top of an extraordinary day. Your old man is moving up in this world. Come the new year, you and the rest of the world will witness just how important I am.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed them with a gleeful expression on his face. “Once I’m in office, I will wield the power and the people who graciously arranged for my ascent will be forced to take note of my agenda.” He stood up and smiled. “I’m taking the rest of the day off to celebrate.” He walked by and clasped Dixon on the shoulder. “What a fabulous fucking day.”
Dixon barely heard the words the man vomited. He waited until his father left his office before he returned to his own. He meticulously shut down his computer, organized his desk, gathered his keys and coat, and departed The Residence. He passed his vehicle, his head down and his eyes fixed on the icy sidewalk.
He counted his steps. One, two, three, four, five. Over and over. Screaming the numbers through his mind to push back everything else. He walked on, the bitter cold doing nothing to numb the rage in his soul. On autopilot, he crossed streets and moved forward. One, two, three, four, five. Snow mixed with rain and fell, wet and heavy, melting on his overcoat and drenching his hair and shoulders. The cold wind picked up when he rounded the corner and headed west.
He pushed open the door to the gym he’d joined several months ago. One, two, three, four, five. The old man behind the desk grunted at him when he signed in. His hands were so fucking cold he could barely hold the pen that dangled off the cheap ass chain.
Manipulating the plastic spinning lock on the metal locker he’d been assigned took several attempts. One, two, three, four, five. As his body started to warm, shivers overcame him. Finally, he managed to open the small compartment. He pulled out his workout gear, piled up his clothes and stuffed his gun and wet leather shoes into the bottom of his locker.
The beds of his nails were purple when he wrapped his hands. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was getting into the gym. He counted his wraps as he wound the tape. One, two, three, four, five. The numbers spun through his mind on autopilot. He couldn’t stop counting, not yet.
He strode out of the locker room without acknowledging anyone. One, two, three, four, five. The heavy bag at the back of the gym beckoned. One, two, three, four, five. He stood in front of it and took a deep breath as he lifted his hands and stopped counting. Like a stop-motion movie, his mind replayed images, sounds, words, and memories. He lashed out at the bag, a scream of rage tearing from the incomprehensible pain that flowed through him.
Time was inconsequential as he purged his system. Hit after hit he drove his hatred, bitterness, regrets and pain into the canvas bag. Unrelenting, he pounded down the volume of his mental anguish with each reverberating impact into the bag in front of him. The miasma of swirling thoughts slowly receded as rational thought blinked in and out of the fury and grief-induced static that had seized control of his mind.
The burning in his hands, shoulders, and back registered first. The acknowledgment of exhaustion, dehydration, and emptiness followed. He stopped. His hands up as far as he could lift them, he stared at the bag. There was a red hue on the canvas. He glanced at his hands. The tape gapped in places and blood seeped from the abrasions the canvas had worn through his skin.
“Drink this.”
A bottle of water appeared in front of him. Dixon turned his head and looked at her.
“Bad day at the office, dear?” She twisted the top off the bottle and waggled the water in front of him. Dixon grabbed it and downed the damn thing, although it was all he could do to lift his arm above his head to drain it.
“That was fucking impressive, by the way. I’ve never seen anyone go that long with the heavy bag. I think maybe you scared some of the regulars away.” She leaned against the wall and folded her arms.
He had nothing. Had no idea what to say to her, hell, he didn’t have a clue how to move. He was wiped.
She nodded toward the locker room. “One foot in front of the other, Quick Draw. Go take a shower.”
Dixon blinked at her. Had he spoken aloud? No? Maybe? Who the fuck cared. He swung his head toward the locker room and put one foot in front of the other, just like she said. Out of habit, he unwrapped the tape from his fists as he walked and chucked it in the trash can just outside the locker room. He moved around a man standing in his way and stripped off his sweat-sodden shirt. It landed with a splat on the wooden bench in front of his locker. After toeing off his shoes, he pushed down his shorts and jock before he pulled off his wet socks.
“Shower.”
Dixon swung his head as Joy walked into the men’s locker room as if she fucking owned it.
Some naked guy behind him in the locker room bellowed, “Hey! You’re not supposed to be in here!”
Dixon chuckled. As if she didn’t know that.
Joy put her hands on her hips and gave the man a once over. “I’m giving you five seconds to leave before you lose that.” She nodded toward the man’s flaccid cock.
He scoffed at her and grabbed for his t-shirt. “Whatever. Crazy bitch.”
Dixon tipped his head to the side, too exhausted to warn the man that he’d just tickled death, and death wasn’t currently exhibiting her unique sense of humor.
Joy snorted and reached behind her neck. Dixon heard the sound of the knife leaving its sheath. She pulled it in front of her and examined it before she glanced at the man. “Go. Now.”
The man grabbed his shit and damn near sprinted, half-naked, into the main gym. Joy turned toward him. “You. Shower.” She pointed the tip of that long thin knife at him.
Dixon shook his head. “You’re going to get arrested.”
“Who me? I’m an angel. Besides, I paid off Jordy. We have the gym to ourselves. It’s closed for ‘maintenance’.” She made little air quotes as she walked past him into the shower room. He heard her turn on the water.
“Come on. You stink.” Joy’s voice beckoned him.
Dixon couldn't move. He was utterly exhausted. The sound of water, however, lured him toward the shower. He turned the corner and stopped. Her jeans, t-shirt, thick-heeled shit-kickers, and leather jacket were folded neatly at the far side of the shower. The knife was lying balanced on the ledge that normally held soap. She tipped her hair back, plastering the thick fall onto her shoulders and back. She opened her eyes and sighed before she marched forward, grabbed his forearm and proceeded to drag him under the shower’s spray.
The hot water peeled the last vestige of fog away from his exhausted mind. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes.
Her voice floated to him past the wall of water falling over him, “We all have those days. I’m particularly unimpressed that you lowered your guard. Anyone could have capped your ass. I’m not sure why, but that is pissing me off.”
Dixon dropped his head and looked down at her. She’d acquired soap from someplace and was lathering her hands. She slid the soap into his cupped hand and reached up to wash his shoulders and pecs. “Don’t do that again. Call me. I’ll watch your six until you work through it.”
She grabbed the soap out of his hand, spun him and lathered up his back. Her fingers dug into his used-up muscles. He leaned his head against the tile wall and groaned. “I can’t risk it.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Her hands worked his back muscles, and he closed his eyes.
“I’m not giving that bastard a way to find you.” He braced both arms against the wall as her hands moved down to his lower back.
“The same bastard that wants to put me on retainer?”
Dixon snorted. “I suggest you forget that conversation.”
“Huh.”
Dixon smiled under the fall of water. That “huh” could have meant anything from “okay,” to
“fuck you,” to “you don’t say”.
“What happened?” She lowered her soapy hands to the inside of his thighs. His cock had already been mildly interested. The brush of her fingers against his balls woke the fucker right up.
“There is no way to explain it.” How could he ever explain his father, explain the fear he carried and the life he and his brother had built. Now that life was threatened. Obviously, there had been a major threat to Drake and a woman. Was it Jade? He knew Jewell was safe…maybe Jasmine? No, she was out of Guardian and had been for a while. Fuck…his head snapped up, and he blinked to focus through the fall of water. Miss Amanda?
“Whoa, big boy. What just happened?”
Dixon shook his head. No way in hell he’d tell a living soul about his brother, the Kings or Frank and Amanda. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit. Something just sent an alert through your body. Your tension went from hammock slack to suspension bridge tight in less than a second.” She stood behind him and swatted him on his ass.
“What was that for?” He turned his head and stared down at her.
“Listen, I get that you can’t talk about shit that’s going on. I’m not a Chatty Cathy myself, but you can tell me when you’re losing it. I will watch your six, and I’d like to think you’d have mine, if for no other reason than…professional courtesy.”
He lifted his hands and made a fist, looking at the damage he’d inflicted on his knuckles. She stepped into him, and he dropped his hands on her shoulders. The hot water poured on his back, sending a light sheen of mist around them.
He gazed down at her. “How do I know you don’t work for him?” The question was one that surprised him but had come into focus as he worked the heavy bag. His desire to have an ally had blinded him to the possibility. He dropped his hands from her shoulders and took a step back and then another.
“I choose what assignments I take very carefully. I’ve investigated the creep you work for. He’s…well, hell, I don’t know what he is, but he sets off a warning siren so fucking loud in my skull that I’d be a fool to ignore it.” She turned off the water and grabbed the knife from the soap dish.
“Yet you continue to show up.”
“I do.” She walked past him into the locker room.
He watched her grab two towels from the stack on the table and toss him one. He caught it but didn’t move from where he stood. Joy bit the blade of her knife and bent over, towel drying her hair. She whipped her hair back away from her face and grabbed the hilt. “I’m not your enemy.”
“And I’m supposed to take you at your word?”
“You should.”
“And yet I don’t.”
She toweled off quickly and started to get dressed. Dixon wrapped the towel around his waist and walked to his locker.
“Then you’re smart on top of being sexy as fuck. Heads up. You didn’t secure your locker before you headed to your ‘beat your hands to hell’ therapy session. I locked it. Weapon safety and all that. It’s on the bottom underneath your clothes.” She dropped down on the bench across from him and pulled on her socks.
Dixon sat down on the bench. “Why are you here?”
“Why? Because I want to be. Personally, I’m not sure what to make of that. You’re not my normal type of guy.” She pulled on a boot and bent to lace it up.
“What is your normal?”
She snorted. “Not you.”
“Okay, change of topic. Who sent you to kill that mark?”
“Meh…actually that was an adlib on my part.” She tucked her long laces into the top of her boots and pulled her jeans down over the leather.
“An adlib? Killing someone is an adlib for you?”
Joy pulled on her other boot and sent him a dazzling smile before she laughed. “Kinda fucked up, huh?”
“Just a bit. You still haven’t answered my question.”
She glanced at him as she laced her other boot and shrugged. “Your question was who sent me to kill the mark. I answered you.”
“So you weren’t under contract?”
“Well, with myself…”
“You were going to pay yourself ten thousand dollars?”
“Hell yeah, bonus for taking out the bastard after stalking him forever.”
“Why kill him?” He opened his locker and pulled his stack of clothes out. His automatic was exactly where she’d said it would be.
“Because he was a son of a bitch that prayed on young girls. He was part of a bigger organization that crashed and burned a couple years ago, but the fucker had set up shop around here doing the same shit on a smaller level.”
Dixon dropped his towel and pulled on his pants. He’d worked the operation to take down those sons of bitches. “How did you find out about him?”
“See that’s the deal. I kinda worked for this guy who ran an influential business, and I heard some things. Bits and pieces. So, I took it upon myself to find out the information I didn’t have. I broke into that guy's house.” She laughed again and shook her head. “Talk about a close shave. I spent almost the entire night in the dude's office closet because he and his partner were having a marathon sex session in the office. Damn those guys were hotter than hell and let me tell you, they had sta-min-a. Anyway, when they finally hauled their asses to the shower, I found the information I was looking for. It wasn’t much more than I knew originally, but it gave me a start, and I’ve been working my way toward getting that monster for seven months now. Just so happened to be the day you showed up. Call it a happy coincidence.” She pushed her jeans over her boots and stood up as she put on her coat. Joy grabbed her wet hair and pulled it out from the back of her coat and let it fall against the leather. Moving directly in front of him, she put her hands on her hips.
Dixon stood. The action put her within inches of his torso. She tipped her head back and looked up at him. “Fuck you are industrial sized, aren’t you?”
The absurdity of the question forced a laugh from him. “No, you’re just travel sized.”
She flashed a smile at him. “Yeah, I am.”
Dixon held out his hand. “Dixon Simmons.”
The woman looked at his hand and then back up at him. Her eyebrows furrowed together again in that peculiar way they did when he confused or surprised her. Slowly she lifted her hand and slid it into his. “Your parents hate you or something? Dick-son? Is your father a dick?”
Dixon threw back his head and laughed. “The largest dick on the planet.”
“Huh. What do people call you other than Dick’s son?”
“D.”
“Okay. Get your clothes on. I’m hungry. Watching you kill that canvas bag gave me an appetite for food and sex. Interested to see if you can raise that subpar rating of yours.”
“I thought you didn’t date?” Dixon put on his shirt.
“I don’t. Eating is fuel for a fuck fest. So we are basically trying to ensure your rating doesn’t decrease over the course of the night.” She pushed his hands away from the buttons. His knuckles and fingers were swollen and maneuvering the small buttons through the holes was almost impossible. While she’d been talking, he’d fumbled two in the middle. It took her seconds to finish the task.
She moved back and stuck her hands in her pockets as if embarrassed by her almost intimate actions. Dixon got it. They had established boundaries, so he put them back into their comfort zone. “So not a date, but a ratings prep. That’s cool because I only do fuel-stoked fuck fests.” He slid on his wet shoes before he holstered his automatic. He grabbed his suit jacket and wet coat. “Is your car close or should we call an Uber?”
She grunted. The nonverbal noise told him he didn’t need to call anyone. He’d taken lessons at deciphering grunts from the best, but he’d give credit where credit was due, the woman was almost as fluent in Grunt as Frank.
Dixon dropped the take-out containers on the counter and watched as Joy went straight to his silverware drawer. “Seriously, just how much time have you spent in my apartm
ent?”
She laughed and grabbed a couple of forks and then swiped some paper towels off a roll on the counter. “Don’t get pissy. Silverware is usually in one of the drawers. You’ve got three, and I got lucky picking the right drawer on the first pull.”
She pulled out one of the stools and used the bottom rung to step up far enough to slide onto it. She pulled one container out of the bag and popped the lid. “Chicken. That’s you.”
Dixon turned to the fridge. “Beer or water.”
“Definitely beer, but you should have more water. You were like a man possessed at the gym.”
He grabbed two beers and another bottle of water—because she was right. “Possessed…that’s probably accurate.”
“You know you can share. I mean leave out the in-the-weeds type deets, but dude, something is eating you alive.” She pointed at him with her fork before she stabbed a forkful of tofu and veggies.
Dixon opened his water and drank half of it before he shook his head. “Just a fucked-up day compounded by a mistake I made. One that others paid for.” He picked at his food.
“Huh.”
Dixon glanced up at her. “Care to decipher that?”
She shrugged. “Is tearing yourself apart going to change what happened?”
Dixon pushed away his food and grabbed his beer. “No.” He couldn’t resurrect the dead no matter how much he wanted to.
“Huh, okay so did you know when you made this mistake others were going to pay?”
“No, but I should have.”
“Oh, okay. So, you’re what a clairvoyant? Or is it a fortune teller?” She pushed his food container in his direction with her fork and pointed at it. “You. Eat.”
He pulled the container back toward him. “I’m neither.”
“As you know, when you are in the business we are in, there are no absolutes. Variables change our circumstances. They say killers have no morals, but that’s bullshit. I have standards, some would call them morals. I don’t violate my guidelines. Did you?”
“Did I what? Violate my standards?”
Dixon Page 7
